“And you are going to let me share a third of your mother?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” from both of the little girls.
“Then you shall share a third of Peter,” the Princess called back, as the smiling coachman drove her away through the glistening snow.
[12] Reprinted by permission of the author and “St. Nicholas Magazine.”
DAME QUIMP’S QUEST[13]
Ellen Manly
Farmer Jones was standing at his front gate one bright December morning when a quaint figure came hurrying along the road—a bent old woman in a long blue cloak, with the ruffles of a big cap flopping about her wrinkled face.
“Good day!” said she, as soon as she was near enough to be heard. “You’re Farmer Jones, I believe. I think you will do nicely to head the procession—just step right behind me and we’ll move on!”
“And, pray, who are you and what should I be doing in a procession?” cried the astonished man. “I’m quite too busy to leave home to-day!”
“Never mind!” answered the old crone, “I know all about you, for I’ve heard you grumbling over the weather many a time. As I came down the hill just now you were complaining at the cold and wishing it were June—you’re a regular ‘weather fretter!’ I’m the Grumble Collector, and you’d better do just as you’re told or there’ll be trouble. My name is Dame Quimp, and my work is to hunt up grumblers and bring them to my old friend Santa Claus before Christmas. If there’s anything he hates, it is grumbling, and he says he is going to teach some folks a lesson this year.